Before We Sleep
by QueenxStardust
Summary: AU. Claire Redfield has been suffering for four long years, unable to move on from the monstrous events of 1998. Eager to prove herself, and eager for change of scenery, she accepts an offer to go to an anti-bio-terrorism convention, courtesy of Terra Save. Yet what lies ahead may be the greatest challenge she's ever had to face.
1. Chapter 1

The silhouette of a hand reached out mindlessly for her torso. Neatly dodging, Claire Redfield still managed to keep in time with the beat, shaking her head at her dance partner. Mouthing an innocent "What?" the man continued to dance with her, trying to creep closer, eyeing her abdomen flirtatiously. Claire held up a hand against his chest, making sure he kept his distance, and also not making a scene. He winked at her hand and held it in place, but stopped his efforts to come closer.

The darkness of the club was entrancing, flattering, and fun. Claire felt mysterious and sexy in the atmosphere, and her dance partner was tall, good-looking, and could hold the beat even better than she. The only downside was his pawing, which was beginning to annoy her. He had a fantastic grin, though, and she'd had enough drinks to look benevolently on him. Anyway, he was still a kid- she'd only danced with him after her shift because he was so attentive and persistent. Regulars often came in and asked Claire to dance.

Looking around, she began to feel slightly nauseous. Nothing too upsetting, but she figured it was time to leave. As the music changed its beat, she raised her brows at her partner and walked away. He didn't follow, but Claire shrugged that off. If he wanted to continue dancing, it was likely he could find a new partner.

Leaning against the bar, she rubbed her stomach. Where there once had been hard abs, there was just a lean hardness. She'd been losing weight, and hadn't been as active. Sighing, she gathered her things, preparing to leave. Thoughts of Chris only upset her.

She slung her purse around her back, containing her mace, bare wallet, and house keys. Her twenty-third birthday had just passed, and not a day went by that she didn't miss Steve. He'd be twenty-one now.

Her phone buzzed, which was odd at this time of night. She flipped it open. "Hello?"

"It's Chris, Claire." Her brother's rough voice echoed through the phone. "I'm gonna be in town for a little, mind if I stay with you for a couple days?"

"Chris! Sure," she answered, preoccupied, tripping over her untied lace as she tried to juggle her cell and shoelaces, nearly dropping the phone in her excitement. "When?"

"Me and Jill are outside your apartment door right now. Where are you?" Chris' sheepish voice echoed slightly.

"Are you serious?" Claire screeched into the receiver, trying not to laugh. Just showing up at her door was so… Chris. "You could've given me some warning! The place is a mess! Is anyone else coming? I don't care if Jill sees my place but if any of the guys do, I'll die."

"Don't be so loud," Jill's unruffled voice came on. "I'm sure you just woke all the neighbors."

Rolling her eyes at the phone, Claire straightened and began to jog. "Yeah, whatever. You two owe me for this. I bet you lied to Jill and told her I knew. Should I pick up a pizza?"

"Nah, me and Jill brought supplies. Figured since this is so last minute it's the least we could do." Chris answered, static coming through as the cell phone switched hands.

"Okay, sounds great. Sit tight, I'll be there in, like, five minutes."

"You told me she knew," Claire heard Jill remark offhandedly to Chris, unfazed by his white lie, as the phone disconnected. Stifling a laugh, she hiked her tiny purse higher up on her shoulder and broke into a run.

Running felt good after so long. Working at the bar wasn't really a job that was physically strenuous, and the most exercise she got at TerraSave HQ was moving from her desk to the exit. In shape or not, she was glad she always wore sneakers to work.

Managing to get to the apartment complex in just four minutes, with not too bad of a sweat, Claire felt a tinge of pride. Pretty good for a girl who hadn't run in a year. Hard to believe that just a few years ago, she'd managed to survive—

"Hey!" Jill's bright smile was obvious even in the darkness. It was easy to see Jill's appeal – nearly every man she knew was smitten with her. Claire suspected even Chris wasn't immune to her charm. "Wow, you're red. Have you been drinking, or are you just happy to see me?" she teased.

"I'm not the Redfield who blushes easily," Claire hugged Jill. "You're stuck with that one. Hey, big brother."

Chris leaned down and hugged her tenderly. Despite his teasing, they were as close as siblings could be. "You're getting a little thing, Claire. And you've never had much meat on you." He straightened, his frame looking even thicker than usual. He'd always been muscular, but Chris was now bordering on body-builder. His hair was gelled back, keeping the thick, dark kinks straightened.

"Shut up." she unlocked the door. "I'll be sure to fatten up if you guys can cook a good dinner."

Chris and Jill exchanged a sheepish look. Neither of them had really acquired the skill. Jill couldn't boil water, and Chris couldn't even manage toast without roasting it. Claire wasn't too good in the kitchen herself, but she made a damn good cup of coffee. And she was a champion at reheating pizza.

"We're going to try," Jill grinned. "Go take a shower or something. We can do this."

"I'll set up beds for you. Jill, you can take the guest room. Chris, you can have the couch."

"I always get the couch!"

"If you're going to complain, I'll take the couch." Jill teased him, unpacking their groceries. Claire went up to shower, leaving them to try and cook and figure out the sleeping arrangements.

She didn't show it, but having the two of them there delighted her. Nobody had visited since Leon had come to say hello a month ago. He'd only stayed for a few hours, but she missed him terribly. He had some sort of government job now, and was a very important agent. It made her rather sad. Sherry was being tested every day, and Claire knew one day she'd contribute to something important. Chris and Jill were in the BSAA and making a real difference. Steve…

Claire realized she'd just washed her hair twice and sighed. Stepping out of the shower, she sniffed the beginning of a meal. She pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a shirt that had once upon a time belonged to Chris. It was soft, and worn almost threadbare, S.T.A.R.S. label still on the sleeve.

When she reached the kitchen, pasta simmered in a blackened pot- where had they found it? She was sure she didn't own that. Sauce and chopped sausage sat in a red mess. The walls were splattered with red. Memories came, whaling her in the stomach. Any vestige of an appetite left at the sight of the vivid crimson on the walls.

She remembered the first zombie she'd killed – not the one Leon had rescued her from. If he hadn't shot when he did, she'd be dead now. The first creature she'd killed had been a guy, maybe her age. She remembered the way blood flew from the hole in his chest, the gaping wound that hadn't even fazed the monster. Another one, flesh exploding when she hit him in the eye. When it fell, she didn't see a zombie. She saw a scared kid, with half an arm chewed off and broken ribs. His t-shirt had been a football shirt. The Dallas Cowboys. Maybe he'd been visiting. Or perhaps he'd moved.

"Claire?" Jill's soft voice broke through her reverie. Jumping, Claire forced a weak smirk, stretching her lips in the semblance of a smile.

"Looks great."

Chris chopped some more onions and dropped them in the sauce. They'd dug through her refrigerator for extras. She always had food in there, even though she never used it. Leon could cook- his visits always left her with more food than she could eat.

"So… what brings you guys over here?"

"We're gonna attend a meeting on… what was it? Yeah, something on fighting bioterrorism. You should prob'ly come, Claire. TerraSave would approve. How're things going on over there?"

Claire's imagination immediately took her back- two months ago, when Leon had visited her at work. As a co-founder, Claire was always staying after, late into the night. He'd come to check up on her. Grateful that she wasn't the Redfield prone to blushing, she tried to banish the image of Leon's eyes, leaning over her as his fingers wandered beneath her slacks.

"It's going good," she choked out. "I'm starved."

"Give me more detail than that!" Chris answered, outraged.

"A lot of paperwork. Not really interesting. Maybe I should go to the convention. Is it tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow and the day after," Jill answered, scooping up a piece of sausage and chewing. "You really should go. It'll be interesting. It's being led by the same people who deal with Sherry's testing."

Claire nodded, still lost in thought of Leon. Ironic, that she thought of him so often now, when with Chris, while her time with Leon had been plagued with thoughts of Steve.

His palms were softer than Steve's had been – calloused and strong, but less rough. Rounder. Steve's fingers had been thick, while Leon's were longer.

Steve had held her hand, and been too afraid to kiss her, while Leon cupped her and kissed her at the same time, his left hand stroking her cheek, his right coaxing her.

Leon counted the tiny scars beneath her nose from Wesker's beating. Steve hadn't seen them heal. She didn't tell Chris any of this. As far as he knew, Leon S. Kennedy was nothing but a decent kid, the guy who'd saved his sister, and who'd helped Chris get to Rockfort Island. The high standard Chris held Leon to might change if Chris knew Leon had slowly been working his way into the place that was almost… rightfully Steve's.

The rescue mission that had brought the two of them together meant Chris saw Steve die. He saw Claire's sorrow, her inconsolable weeping, her depression. He saw Leon as the friend who had helped her through it. If she told him that physical therapy had helped her the most, Chris would demand to know why she'd hidden it. He'd demand to know why Leon didn't call himself a boyfriend. Why they hadn't kissed on New Year's, 2000. The supposed end of the world, when the apocalypse would happen. They couldn't even joke about that.

If she told Chris and Jill, right now, that she and Leon were intimate, she'd have to explain about Steve, and Ada. Especially Ada.

Her emotions weren't up for it.

"It's ready!" Jill interrupted Chris- Claire hadn't even realized he'd been talking. Something about Barry Burton. Guiltily, she promised herself she'd pay more attention. Barry had been a family friend. And Rebecca Chambers, closer to Claire's age than Chris', with her husband, Ark. Claire had gone to the wedding, wearing one of Jill's dresses.

Afterwards, she had wondered if Jill could smell sex on it.

Later that night, Claire eyed herself in the mirror, turning this way and that, searching her body.

A scar here, from Mr. X. A white, faded hole there, from Birkin. An indent on her finger from when she'd shot herself in the finger with a crossbow by mistake. A scar just below her nose, barely noticeable, from when Wesker had kicked her. A swollen collarbone from when she was twelve. A pattern of marks on her leg from a dog on Rockfort Island that wouldn't let go. Freckles.

She wondered if Ada was as imperfect as she. If Ada had any moles or warts or freckles or acne scars. Maybe that's why Leon loved her. Because he did. Despite how much he cared about Claire, and she knew he did, he loved Ada in a way he couldn't love her. In a way that Steve Burnside could've loved her, started to love her, before his life and love were cut short.

Maybe she loved Leon, but guilt plagued her, kept her from admitting it to herself. Maybe she was only using him, for his expert fingers and constant honesty. The first time they'd slept together was over a year ago.

"Claire," he had said quietly over a cup of coffee. "Do you ever think about the past?"

This wasn't about her, she knew, because he knew about Steve and she had seen him and Ada. But she was dead as well, lost in Raccoon City.

Moving from her side of the table to his, she looked down at his mug. He took his coffee with milk, not cream, and no sugar. Winding her fingers around his, she kissed his cheek.

"Leon… I know how hard it is." Earnestly, her cobalt eyes met his steely gray ones, trying to make him feel better. Suddenly, he stood, taking her with him, spilling some of the tepid coffee on their entwined fingers.

He was three inches taller than her, and strong, with the lean muscles of a cat. Languid, fearsome.

The intensity of his gaze made her extremely aware of him. It wasn't as if she'd never noticed him before, but their relationship was strictly limited to friendship. But when his mouth covered hers, she hadn't objected. When his tears hit her cheek, she cried too, for all they'd lost, for all they'd been through.

Her tears had stopped through, when his long fingers pressed against her bottom, pushing her against him. Groaning, she'd nearly lost her balance. She needed him, and he needed her, for their thinness and leanness and history. His fingers knew her better than she herself did.

At that time, she'd only had sex once – a guy in school. She'd really liked him – Nick. After trying to get over her grief, over Steve, over her worries, Sherry, Chris, Leon. The sex had been mediocre, the foreplay fantastic. The false promises to call had been the best part. After realizing she didn't want to be with him, he did all the work avoiding her.

Leon was different. He tasted like sorrow and loss and stress. And coffee. She wondered what Ada had tasted of. Sweat and grime and blood, or apples and perfume and mystery.

Knowing what attracted Leon to her made it easier to understand. Ada had been mystery, and impermanence, and death. She was transparent, real, flesh-and-blood life.

Lowering her shirt, she crawled into bed, not wondering or caring about whether or not Jill was sleeping on the couch. Perhaps they shared the guest room. Claire had no idea, and knew that Chris and Jill's relationship was one thing that was off-limits to her sisterly nagging. Something told her that even if she were allowed to ask, Chris himself wouldn't be able to define his feelings for her.

Pulling open her bedside drawer, Claire took a nip from the tiny bottle. Blanching at the taste, she felt the heat slide down her throat and down, down, to her stomach. She closed the bottle, the whisky sitting comfortably on her full stomach. The drapes were all adjusted so that not a single ray of light could filter through and disturb her. As strange as it sounded, Claire couldn't bear to see any light. The dimness reminded her of things she wanted desperately to forget. Blackness meant no shadows. No trick of her mind. Nothing but silence and darkness to comfort her.

Tonight, with her brother in the house, her nightmares left her alone.


	2. Chapter 2

"Great seminar," Jill commented. "Definitely thought provoking."

"Yeah…" Claire mused. "It makes me curious though. A study on BOWs is definitely helpful, but what if they make _new_ ones?" she shivered at the memory of the Tyrant, the creature who'd attacked her and Steve while travelling.

Chris jogged up from behind. "Too bad the guys ran away right after. You coulda asked them about Sherry."

Before he could finish, Claire's phone began to beep quietly. She picked it up, flipping open her phone. "Hello?"

"Claire? Claire, is that your voice?" Mrs. Burton's voice echoed through the phone. "The phone seems to be breaking… I keep losing my calls."

"Then why are you calling?" Claire asked, amused, mouthing to Chris. "Did I leave something at your house?"

"No… dear… I was only wondering if you'd spoken to Chris lately?"

The phone's volume seemed to fade in and out, quiet at the beginning of sentences, and the ends so loud that Claire had to hold the phone away from her ear. Chris heard her question and winced.

"Yeah, Kathy, he's right here, actually. Funny you called."

"Well—" a crash echoed. "_Shit_! I can't talk right now… sorry sweetheart, do you mind if I call back later?"

"What the hell was that?" Claire demanded.

"I… got a puppy… No! Bad! I have to go, sweetheart, I'll call you next weekend."

"She got a dog?" Jill's face was incredulous. "I thought she couldn't stand animals."

"Figured that's why she never let Moira and Polly get a pet when they were kids," Chris snorted, relieved he was spared from an embarrassing public conversation with his surrogate mother.

"Hey, I'm just as surprised as you. Maybe she called to invite you over, Chris, and meet her new dog. It'd be incentive for you to visit. Or at least call her. It's bad enough that I keep forgetting to call Barry back, since he's off doing whatever he's doing. She's worried about him."

Shamed, Chris looked away. "It's just weird, sometimes." His face went hard, his lips pursed. Both women sensed his discomfort and flew to change the subject.

"So, what's going on at TerraSave, Claire?" Jill demanded quickly, grinning up brightly- too brightly- at Claire.

"I actually got an e-mail today, and I'm travelling to an estate in France for a diplomatic meeting with other members across the world. I was going to bring up over lunch. I'm actually really excited," Claire confessed, watching Chris relax from the corner of her eye. "I should've brought it up to Mom but there wasn't time. The details aren't all ready yet, but I should be leaving as soon as you guys head out."

"You're leaving? To where?" Chris looked at her suspiciously.

"France, Chris. Calm down, I'm going to have a bodyguard and everything."

"What in the hell do you need a bodyguard for?" he thundered, stopping in his tracks.

"Christ, Chris, I figured that'd make you feel better!" Claire yelled at him. "Can we just go, please? I really am not in the mood for a scene."

The trio continued down the sidewalk towards Claire's apartment, a few people staring, shocked at Chris' bellowing.

Part of her felt comforted by her brother's protectiveness. Another part felt embarrassed that Jill Valentine saw that. Claire had always idolized the older woman. She was exactly what Claire wanted to be – strong, beautiful, and skilled. While she and Leon tried to escape Raccoon City, Jill was doing the same – only she was there longer, and she had a monster for a shadow. She'd told the Redfields all about the menacing creature.

"Sorry," he mumbled, embarrassed, shielding his eyes as the sun peeked over from a building. They stopped at the crosswalk. "Just… reacted."

"I think this is a conversation we need to have in private," Claire affirmed. Jill remained silent, not awkwardly, but retreating into quietness to stay diplomatic. The two siblings were alike in their ability to get angry, quickly. However, the two were unalike in their recovery. While Claire rarely held a grudge, Chris was a master of anger, often unable to let go.

The trek to the apartment remained quiet. Chris went upstairs, while Jill began to do the dishes. Watching her, Claire sighed. The light from the kitchen window hit the older woman at precisely the right angle – the brown, bobbed hair shone, the big baby blues glowed with an inner goodness that was entirely Jill. Without her, Claire doubted her big brother would be half as successful. Chris was brave, and passionate, but sometimes all-too-reckless. Jill was his guiding light, who kept him calm. It was rare to watch Jill lose composure.

"He just loves you," Jill spoke up. "I know it gets a little overbearing at times, and other times it seems as though he's absolutely oblivious, but he loves you a lot, Claire. Our line of work is dangerous. If he got his way, you wouldn't even have that part-time job."

"It brings in extra money," Claire lied quickly, wheeling the subject away. "I only work a few days a week anyway. I know he loves me – and I love him too. He's my brother. But I'm not a kid! I'm as much of a survivor as he is – as you are. He's perfectly fine with you being in danger."

Jill smiled at the dishes as she loaded them into the washer. "I know. He knows it too. But you're his sister – to him, you'll always be his kid sister. Chris wants nothing more than your safety. You're smart, and you can more than handle yourself, but you aren't trained. Chris and I have been through a lot of dangerous situations together- sometimes we've saved each other. We're partners. It's my job to risk my life. Besides, with the BSAA just starting up, there isn't that much field work to do."

Claire relented. "I guess you're right. It's not even like I'll be in danger though. The job at TerraSave is all about paperwork and lobbying more than battles and combat. I'm only getting a bodyguard because, as Chris is so fond of saying, I can never be too careful." She wound her ponytail around her fingers. She needed a cut. Maybe she'd get it short. A bob meant no ponytails though, and that'd drive her insane.

Thundering down the steps came Chris, looking more like a bear than man. Feeling more charitable now, Claire gave her brother a hug. Surprised, and prepared for a fight, he hugged her back, with Jill smiling at them.

It felt good to be in his arms again. Despite their fighting, she couldn't imagine a better brother.

* * *

_Leon,_

_I'm about to go as I'm typing this. My 'bodyguard' will be here any second now. I hope he or she and I get along, since we're gonna be staying in the same room for a week. You didn't answer last night, so I left a message on your phone. Whatever you're doing right now, I hope it isn't too dangerous! I'll call you when I'm home again- or you can call me any time. _

Right as she hit the send button, a horn beeped. A little annoyed that her ride didn't even bother to come to the door, she hit the off button on her computer and hoisted her bag on her shoulder. Spotting the nearly empty bottle, she took a large swallow and threw the bottle in the wastebasket, blanching at the strong brandy. She'd already double and triple checked her bag, and knew she had everything she needed, and she wasn't driving. Locking the door behind her, she stepped into the bright sunlight, feeling her shirt rise a little as she struggled with the huge duffle and key. Once she locked her door, she made it to the little green Honda, throwing the bag into the unlocked trunk. Pulling down her shirt, she opened the front passenger door, a rush of cool air meeting her skin. The car was frigid.

"Hey," she smiled at the driver, while her eyes adjusted to the shaded atmosphere of the car. Shutting the door and buckling her belt, she turned to him. "I'm Claire."

The man next to her, clad in a long-sleeved shirt and jeans despite the heat, gazed at her through thick sunglasses. "William."

His apathetic response irritated her. Was she really stuck with this asshole for a week?

Immediately after she had the thought, she chided herself. For all she knew, it was a bad day, or he had a headache. He drove carefully, meeting the speed-limit, which Claire appreciated. She herself didn't even own a car- she only had the motorcycle she'd bought when she was seventeen. Chris drove like a maniac, and Jill had road rage and Leon was more comparable to an old woman than anything else.

"So, do you prefer any nicknames? Or just William?"

The car eased to a stop as he peered around the red sign. "Don't call me anything but William."

William's voice was stern, but careful. She wondered about him. Where the hell had TerraSave found him? Did he work for them? Or was he a part of a private agency? Still trying to make conversation, Claire continued. "So, do you work for TerraSave?"

"Listen, sweetheart," his tone suddenly changed, harshly, no longer controlled. "I'm here to be your bodyguard. I don't do chitchat." Viciously sarcastic, he took off his sunglasses, revealing dark, navy eyes that glared at her.

Biting back a remark, Claire simply turned up the radio. A CD was in- Queen. Made In Heaven. She and Chris had loved this album when they were kids, but she hadn't heard it in years.

The silence began to grate on Claire. Feeling guilty for bothering him, as the song changed, she had to comment. "Let Me Live… this is my favorite song. My brother and I got matching vests with it. We used to love this."

Perhaps feeling just as guilty for his overreaction to her conversation, he made an effort to answer. "Yeah… I have… I mean," his face hardened for a second. "I meant to say, this is my favorite album. They should've used Roger Taylor's voice more often."

Claire emphatically agreed. "Well, he did a side project too, and I have those albums. The Cross, it's called." Leon had shown it to her, when he realized how much she loved the band. The discovery had delighted her.

"So, you like older music," he said casually. Too casually, as if he was forcing it. "What other bands do you like? I've got a few CDs in the compartment."

It was an offering. A truce. An apology.

Accepting it silently, she opened the dash. He had a soft CD holder, with dozens of discs. His collection was impressive.

"You like the Monkees?" she giggled, skimming through.

He stopped at a red light, and glanced over at her, offended. "Is there something wrong with the Monkees? I like the Gorillaz too."

"I mean, nothing is wrong with it… Wow, I haven't listened to the Monkees since middle school." She couldn't contain a burble of laughter. The car, which had seemed so cool a second ago, warmed as the man in the driver's seat loosened up.

He glared. "I have other stuff in there too. There's Metallica… Nirvana, and I think Foo Fighters. I have Floyd and the Beatles, too."

"No Zeppelin?" she demanded, incredulous, searching again in case she missed it.

"Nah, I can't stand Plant's voice." He shook his head in disgust.

"What? Are you serious?" she grinned at him. "You can do Metallica, but not Led Zeppelin?"

"Hey, Metallica is great." He let a small smile creep over his face. "But the greatest band ever has got to be Queen."

"I agree." She laughed. "I was actually going to get some lyrics tattooed on me, for a while. But then I didn't know where to get it, so I never bothered."

He seemed particularly interested in that. "Really? What lyrics?"

"Not Let Me Live, if that's what you're thinking. Obviously Fat Bottomed Girls, You Make the Rockin' World Go 'Round. I was going to get it on my ass, but my mom would've skinned me alive." She grinned.

Laughter escaped from him, a chalky, rusty sound. "Christ. No, really. What did you wanna get?"

"How do you know I'm not being serious?" she protested laughingly, ruining any semblance of truth.

Raising dark brows, he sent a sideways glance at her. "Your ass isn't big enough to get that whole tattoo."

A little embarrassed, both for her inadequate bottom and his bluntness, she confessed: "It seems kind of corny, but it's a lyric, not a title. Let us never lose the lessons we have learned." She singsonged, imagining Freddie Mercury's vocals in her head.

He looked at her strangely. "We're almost at the airport." Clearing his throat, he pulled his sunglasses back on, turned the volume down, and put up the walls again.

For a second, the air in the car had become comfortable, but now, the atmosphere was chilling her to the bone.

She wished Steve could be there to keep her warm. Smiling to herself at the idea, she snuggled back into the seat. Remembering the flight from Rockfort to the Antarctic, and how she'd woken up in his arms. She'd probably have frozen without him, or gotten sick. Being sick during an outbreak wouldn't have been the most convenient event they'd faced. During the Raccoon outbreak, she and Leon had to separate so often that there'd never been a chance to get up-close and personal. Not until they were waiting for help to arrive. Sherry's head had rested limply in her lap, while Leon cuddled against her, weak from bloodless. A wound he'd sustained protecting Ada.

Claire was dozing when William parked the car. Waking her, she blinked heavily and stood. The bright, hot sunlight was a wild contrast to the interior of the car. While she was adjusting to the sudden change, she realized William was walking away, both of their luggage in hand.

"Wait, no!" She caught up to him, noting his size. He was close to six feet tall, and wide. He almost rivaled Chris in his build. Anyone would be safe with him around. "You don't have to do that."

Looking down at her, he shrugged, and dumped the duffle on her. She stumbled back, almost laughing as he continued walking towards the terminal, not noticing her reaction. Hoping that their conversation had made him warm up, she followed after. Getting back in shape would be her first priority when they got back.

Their first troubles, however, came almost immediately. Security had been tightened up immensely lately, to help stop the spread of bioterrorism. As the security alarm went off as they passed, eyes were raised. William's intimidating appearance only made it worse. So the pair was sat down in a corner for half an hour before someone came to inspect their passports.

"William Cohan and Claire Redfield?" the officer asked. They nodded, and he motioned for their identification. Claire was bothered by the holdup. The sooner they got there, the sooner they could unpack. A trip to France would be refreshing in more ways than one.

When Chris had said goodbye, he'd asked her to stay safe. The request had seemed typical Chris at the time. She hadn't even thought of it, so used to his protective attitude towards her. But now, sitting in the crowded airport, she wondered. Umbrella stock was falling rapidly, and the week in France would be hosted by the Travis family – famous for their involvement in Tricell. Their involvement in BSAA wasn't well known, but Claire was looking forward to it. Representing TerraSave as a part of this would be important. Although her dealings were more political and activist than scientific or physical, she knew she was contributing to something important.

But perhaps she should be careful. Some of the most famous people involved in anti-bioterrorism would be there – the insane activist, Curtis Miller, who was close to being ejected from the community, to people like Excella Gionne, the nineteen year old heiress of the Travis family.

Not to mention herself and William.

Chris' eyes though had been serious. She thought him paranoid, but she remembered how unsurprised he'd been to see Albert Wesker in the Antarctic. How he'd been able to handle Alexia Ashford's transformation, the arrival of mutated Steve, finding her trapped in a giant spider web. His paranoia could be grating, but damn him, he was usually right.

His hug had been crushing. Her big bear of a brother gave great hugs. Their mother had loved carrying him – Chris had been a cuddly child. Looking back, though, the seriousness in his eyes bothered her. He was worried by the idea that she'd need a bodyguard. But Claire was hoping for nothing more than a vacation – an educational break, where she wouldn't need to worry about the past, but look to the future.


	3. Chapter 3

"Mr. Cohan, there seems to be a problem with your passport."

William's glasses were tucked away in the front pocket of his white button-down. Glaring up at the officer, he unfolded a piece of paper from the pocket of his dark jeans and handed it to the man.

As he read, the man's eyes became large. Nodding, he folded the paper up and handed it back to William. "Yes sir, uh, right this way please… ma'am, do you need any help with your luggage? No? You, sir?" All right, right this way, follow me."

Winding them through the airport, he led them to their plane waiting area and went over to speak with the plane's flight attendant, nodding over at the two and explaining something, using his hands. Looking up at him, the woman nodded, looking uninterested. After he departed, she simply began filing her nails, waiting for the plane with just as much patience as William was.

"What was that about?" Claire demanded, more surprised than curious. "What was that paper?"

"There are some issues with my passport. I carry that around so I can travel freely," he answered briefly, sitting down and crossing his legs. His tone indicated that any more questions would be unwelcome, so Claire settled down and pulled out an old magazine from the table beside them. Unable to concentrate on the dated gossip rag, she sighed and leaned back, watching the people around her: a few children crying, a pregnant woman arguing with her boyfriend over a sandwich, an old gentleman, wearing a scarf and suit despite the summer heat, all waiting for the same small plane. William was back to his stony silence, and the warmth generated by their conversation was fading.

She felt guilty for bothering him – but was it so wrong of her to want to build at the very least a superficial relationship with the man she'd spend a week with? It wasn't as though she was asking for his number or for a date or to be his newest friend. She just wanted to enjoy herself. And after Chris' warning, was it so wrong of her to desire an awareness of her surroundings?

Jill had been calmer at their parting. She'd kissed Claire's cheek and smiled her gorgeous, soft smile, looking hesitant. "See you soon Claire. Take care of yourself."

Perhaps something was happening that Claire didn't know about. Leon was off somewhere, saving the planet somewhere. Maybe Chris and Jill were doing the same. Sherry could save the world one day. Most of what the people in her life did was classified information. They were important: she was a civilian, a twenty-two year old kid who worked at a bar and stashed her Jack Daniels in her purse, right next to the Mace.

Staying young made her feel better- adulthood was fearsome. Steve never grew up, and leaving behind him scared her. Sherry was still a kid, and she suffered every day for the greater good. Claire didn't know what to think, and it was distressing. What she really wanted at this point was a drink. Her fingers itched for the bottle, but not only would it be inappropriate at this time of day, it was also inappropriate to drink when she was going to get on a plane.

Not to mention the scathing look she'd probably get from William.

"Ten fucking hours on that godforsaken plane. _Christ_. I hate trains, planes, and cars." He complained. "Can't stand boats either. Shit. Moving shit. Flying shit. Floating _shit_."

Claire tossed him down his bag as he stretched his legs. They had both spent the majority of the quiet, almost empty plane ride asleep. "Better suck it up. We still have to rent the car and ride to the place. Do you have directions?"

"No. I'm a hired bodyguard, not your chauffeur. The only reason I picked you up was because I needed a parking spot anyway."

"What?" she pulled her bag down and hoisted it up. "Let's go. What do you mean parking spot?"

"I don't live around there. If I had free parking somewhere, sure as hell you'd be walking."

Rolling her eyes, she followed him off the plane, with smiling attendants in tow, to the terminal. "I need something to eat."

"Got any cash on you?"

Glaring at him, she mimicked him. "I'm precious cargo, not a walking wallet."

"You're my walking paycheck though. How about taco bell?"

"I'm driving. You aren't trying to get me to pay for you too, are you?" she rolled her eyes. "What time is it here? Like three AM?"

"Who knows? Don't check the clock yet, it'll fuck with your head. Jet lag is a mother." William shrugged.

"So are burritos at three in the morning," Claire replied wryly. "Do you really want burritos? We could go and get some actual food." He nodded. "Do you want to rent the car and I can order some food?" she offered.

"Do you speak any French? I sure as shit don't."

"Not much. We should probably stick together. We need to exchange the currency, too."

"How much do you have?"

Reaching for her back pocket, Claire pulled out her wallet. Folding it open, she counted the bills. "I brought six hundred with me."

Green bills came flashing out of his pocket. Quickly counting them, mouthing by twenties, he looked up. "Eight sixty."

"So that's what, a thousand… three hundred? Two hundred?" Claire concentrated, trying to work out the math. "Minus… shit, I can't think. We can afford a car for a week, though."

"'Course we can," he answered, unruffled. "I'll go stand in line. Wanna sit here with the luggage?" Before she could respond, he took all of the money, his fingertips brushing her palm. A shock of electricity jolted through her, stiffening her spine, waking her up. Glad he was turned away, she felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. The softness of his strong, wide, finger pads was a new sensation.

Watching his expression, she let her mind wander, one hand on the luggage, leaning with her back against the cold airport wall.

_"I'm worried about her," Jill confessed. "Will she be okay?"_

_Stopping in her tracks outside the guestroom door, Claire held her breath, leaning closer, trying to hear the not-so-muted conversation._

_"I am too. She's my sister." Chris's bass voice was troubled. "I'd be more worried about us right now, though." His attempt to distract her was futile. Claire could imagine Jill's soft, undeceived smile as she spoke._

_"Chris, you know perfectly well we'll be fine. Going to Russia? I've always wanted to pick up a second language."_

_"What language do they even speak where we're going?" blowing a sigh, soft stomps indicated Chris was pacing. Cracks of the light peeked through the nearly-closed door. A large shadow moved, blocking the light for a moment. Catching her breath, ready to act as though she was knocking to wish them a final good night, Claire tried to unfreeze her limbs._

_"Chris… Claire will be fine. We'll be fine. It's only a matter of time until Umbrella is finished. It's going to be a victory for the BSAA."_

_"What about the T-Veronica virus?" she heard a frustrated snort. "What about the G virus and any other virus they'll make? It's not over. It'll never be over."_

_Unable to bear it, Claire stepped forward, composing her face into a cheery expression. "What're you guys talking about?"_

_Chris' shock was evident, but Jill's smooth face masked her surprise. Before Chris could come up with a blundering lie, she inserted: "Just that conference. The pictures were really interesting. And didn't you get to speak to the man about Sherry?"_

_"Yes," Claire felt herself feeling less nervous at the mention of her young friend. The man, Doctor Tyler, hadn't known Sherry personally, but was familiar with the work done with her, and assured her that she was being treated just fine since her move to a new facility just over three weeks ago. "All good news. I sent her a gift basket the other day. A sort of house-warming gift. But hey, I was just coming to say I'm going to bed now."_

_Despite herself, she felt tears stinging her eyes. She was always out of the loop – Leon would go missing for weeks at a time, and be unable to share his experiences with her, and now Chris and Jill, and something about Russia, and everything that was happening with poor Sherry… it was almost too much for her. Any chance of a normal life, normal relationships with average people was completely ruined by the machinations of Albert Wesker and William Birkin. And as much as she desperately wanted to escape the boring, lonely lifestyle she led now, she wanted nothing more than to be free from the constant references to the past and to the deadly present and the very fact that no matter how much she lobbied or paid politicians or took medical classes to help those infected, she'd never do as much for any cause as she'd hoped. She wasn't a fighter- but she rebelled._

Jolted out of her melancholy thoughts by the indignant shouts from the woman standing next to her, Claire looked up just in time to see a guy run past, ripping her purse from her arm as he did.

"What the hell?" she demanded, torn for a second between running after the bastard and giving him a piece of her mind – in the best French she could manage – and staying with the luggage. Before she could decide though, William jogged past her, thrusting his wallet in her hands, going after the thief without a word. Claire was more annoyed by the principle of having her purse stolen in a public area than worried- William had taken the money anyway. Nothing remained in her purse but her pepper-spray, her identification, and an ancient tube of Chap-Stick. The only harm done was to her pride.

Before she knew it, police officers trooped past, just as William returned, handing her the purse. "Monsieur, pouvez-vous me dire ce qui s'est passé?" the officer demanded, her blonde eyebrows arched.

William looked up, pained. "…Cette femme ... moi. Man prenne ... sac. Je protégé?" he struggled to get an appropriate accent. Completely out of her death, Claire just nodded along to his words. She did notice him wiping his fist on the leg of his pants. Then, as if he had forgotten, he stepped past and handed the woman next to them, looking red-eyed and shocked, her not-so-small wallet. Looking grateful, the woman threw her arms around him.

"Merci!" she squeezed and released him. "Merci!" smiling brightly at him, the woman, close to thirty, heavy-set and pretty, with big brown eyes that looked at him as though he were the Second Coming. Claire felt a smile spread across her own cheeks, as William stared sullenly at the police, who were conversing in French, looking for all the world like a young boy playing where he shouldn't have been.

"Thank you," she touched his arm.

He shrugged off her gesture. "Just doing what I get paid to do."

"That doesn't mean I don't appreciate it," she retorted, trying to bite back a smile. It was so hard to remain sincere when he had such an attitude. He really was like a kid. It made her think of Steve, with his long red hair and mischievous grin.

The police woman turned towards him again. "Nous nous excusons pour la gêne occasionnée. Pourquoi ne pas louer une des voitures de l'aéroport? Nous pouvons offrir des rabais de courtoisie. C'est le moins que nous puissions faire, après que l'affichage embarrassant."

Billy looked bewildered, but the lady, after stuffing her wallet firmly into her bag, turned over, and translated, in broken English: "She say… You rent car from airport… less Euro. Excusez-nous."

Nodding, William accepted. Writing down something on her pad, one of the officers ripped out a sheet of paper and handed it to them, nodding.

"William! We can't just take that offer!" she hissed at him, stunned he agreed so easily. From what she'd seen, being easy seemed completely out of character for him.

"Why not?" he asked sensibly. "Save money where we can. That was a fluke, but it was damn lucky. A discount is just what we need. And now with this," he waved the paper. "It'll be easier to get a car, even though we aren't fluent. Which means, more time to eat."

Gaping at him, Claire was stunned. "You mean, the only reason you accepted was so you could eat longer?"

"Hey, sweetheart, it's a long drive."

Although uttered sarcastically, the endearment felt nice. The closest to real affection she'd experienced lately was when Chris jokingly called her Claire-bear. Leon saw her as a woman. Endearments wouldn't even occur to him. They were childish. Steve had been in almost awe of her. Nicknames from him would've been out of place. And even though she felt closer to Jill than any other woman in her life, their friendship wasn't about cuddles and friendly feelings. The very idea of Sherry nicknaming her even sounded ludicrous in her head. It made her smile to imagine. Kathy Burton was the only one – and as she faded farther from contact with Barry, she felt more and more distant from the woman who'd coddled her so often when she was younger. She missed them all. She missed feeling close to someone. The distance was all of her own making, but she couldn't help it.

"You coming?" he called back, traipsing through chattering crowds, not bothering to see if she actually was. He was prickly, and rude, and his attitude needed adjustment, but Claire began to think spending a week with him wouldn't be as awful a prospect as it had seemed at first. Maybe it was because at different turns, he reminded her of the people in her life – immature like Steve, gruff like Chris, and like Leon, he seemed to hide what was really beneath the surface. It made her curious, wondering what was on his papers and who he was. It simply wasn't her place to ask, though. He was paid to be her company, and after they returned, would go their separate ways. He probably didn't want to strike up any sort of friendship either – for him, this was strictly professional.

She remebered the e-mail from her friend Mickey clearly.

_Claire, hey. I know this is last minute, but I'm in a hurry too – I was supposed to go to France for a week-long convention in a few days, but something private came up. You're the only other person for the job. Would you do me the biggest favor in the world and go? It's all paid for by TerraSave, so all you need to worry about is pocket change. There's a guy, William Cohan, who will work as a sort of protective agent, I guess? Body guard? Buddy? We hired him to stick around. Good guy in a tight spot apparently. I can send you the address and everything. If you see this, call me back ASAP and let me know! I can give you more details too! You're the best (even if you can't manage this)! _

- Mickey Childs.

She'd called him back immediately, eager to go. This could be the change in her career she desperately wanted, as well as the change her stilted social life needed. Working at a dive bar wasn't cutting it, and a desk-job was so different from what her instincts told her she should be doing. Maybe –

Before she could finish the thought, William had come back, placing a hand on her shoulder this time. "You okay?" he asked, a raised brow, his tone caught somewhere between concern and condescension.

"Yeah," she answered, slowly. "I'm fine." And to prove it, she gave him a dazzling smile.


	4. Chapter 4

"Come on, let's go then," he pushed her forwards impatiently, his strength forcing her to walk, or fall.

The chattering crowds seemed to fall apart before them. William kept pushing her, his hand warm and vital on her shoulder. His grip made her realize that perhaps had lost too much weight lately. Frailness didn't become her. Once strong, she was now breakable. The realization felt strange. Actively trying to monitor her body was a new, alien concept. As a teenager, she'd never bothered to diet, taking her weight's yo-yoing in stride, staying active simply because she loved to do so. Dieting was something she'd never done – trying to gain weight was nearly impossible for her. She couldn't recall a time she'd weighed more than a hundred twenty-five pounds. At this point, she was probably closer to one hundred pounds than one-thirty.

Looking down, she realized her collar-bones were protruding in a manner she'd never seen, or noticed, on herself before. When had she become so thin? Had stress done this to her? Too much alcohol? Too many memories of the past?

"So, should we spring for somethin' fancy, or just hit some fast food."

"I don't need fancy, but the idea of luke-warm fries and a greasy burger doesn't sound appealing right now," her stomach was queasy at the thought of it. "I could really go for a salad right now. A huge salad with tons of cheese. And a beer."

He grinned down at her, still not removing his hand, probably forgetting it was there. "The best ale euros can buy. Fancy ale, and some French cheese grown in a cave somewhere. I could go for… fish. I really want some fish. A huge fucking piece of salmon sounds great right now. And a Coke. I haven't had Coke in years."

The thought of it made her famished. And his sudden intimacy gratified her. Usually, she could make friends with a single smile, but lately, she felt as though she were losing all the ones she had. She hadn't spoken to Rebecca since her honeymoon, and she hadn't returned Barry's last two calls. Not because she didn't want too – she just forgot. Kathy was probably her best friend right now. And lately, Kathy was mourning Chris' avoidance more than celebrating her closeness with her surrogate daughter. Moira and Polly were too young for Claire to have much of a relationship with, and Barry was constantly working and travelling, so that the combination of their schedules made it hard to communicate with him, even when she tried.

"Years, really?" she teased him. "Fancy French Coca-Cola?"

"Everything's fancy with a French accent," he maintained, looking up, and steering her to the parking garage. He held the policewoman's note up to a man at the door, who nodded, and spoke into a walkie-talkie in rapid French.

In thirty-seconds flat, a man drove up in a small, blue car. Claire dug out the wallet and set a few bills free from the tight leather. The man with the walkie-talkie counted them, and handed her back two bills with 20 printed on them. Stuffing it back in her purse, he nodded at the other man. Claire was stunned. Was it really this easy to rent a car? In America, she couldn't, she wasn't twenty-five yet. But there wasn't any way William could be mistaken for that young. He was probably in his early thirties, and looked it.

Handing them the keys, the second man babbled in French. William nodded like he understood, and got into the car.

"What did he just say?" Claire demanded after stuffing her clothing in the front. The car's papers were all on the passenger seat. She put them in the dashboard.

"Something about getting it back here in perfect condition or buying the entire car." He shrugged. "The note pretty much said to give me an easy time and discount."

"It's got to be more complicated than that."

"I know some people. I already made arrangements. I already reserved the car- just needed to pay for it."

"They didn't even ask for your I.D.!" Claire was indignant.

He shrugged, shifting the gear and driving forward. Then, as if remembering, he dug out the map he'd printed out, complete with directions, from his front pocket.

"Are you always this prepared?" she asked, in awe.

"No."

The air in the car went cold. He seemed to sit up straighter. It was too dark for him to wear glasses to hide his face, but his eyes were hard. Their lighthearted banter left her confused. This man was constantly switching around, happy to angry, cheerful to rude, warm to cold.

Leaning back, Claire wished she could talk to Sherry. Sometimes they were allowed to visit. Once, they'd gone to get ice cream, where Sherry had accidentally dropped her cone on Claire's head. Thinking of it made her shiver even more.

"So, should we just check out the first place we see?" he asked.

"Sure," she answered listlessly. It really wasn't his fault. Her moods were as unpredictable as his.

Looking over at her, he frowned. "Over there is a place." His voice went soft. She nodded, staring out the window into the dark.

"Didn't mean to be so sharp," almost apologetically, he turned into the restaurant parking lot. Claire turned her head to look at him. He wrinkled his eyebrows, frowning childishly as he gave his weak defense. "I'm not used to… conversation, I guess."

This time, determined not to pry, Claire just watched him, her eyes big and blue in the darkness.

"Shit," he cursed, opening the door roughly. "Just—sorry."

Nodding, she stepped out of the car, yanking the long, worn strap of her little brown purse. She always seemed to be following him.

He motioned to the host that they were sitting for two. Leading them to a table, the girl handed them their menus, smiling.

"I can't read any of this," Claire had expected this, but the degree of her ignorance was a little funny. A week in France – and she couldn't even speak a lick of the language. She was doing as well as Mickey would've, but staring at the menu, she was a little bewildered. "How do we order?"

"We guess," he drawled. "I'm pretty sure this is the drink menu… plenty of ale. We can ask if the server speaks any English."

They struggled with the menu, with him eventually figuring out where her salad was.

"Salut! Je suis serveuse. Êtes-vous prêt?" the waitress popped back, smiling brightly at them.

Claire smiled, and pointed at the salad she wanted. Peering over, the girl wrote down the order.

"Et vous?" she asked William.

He jabbed a finger down, eyes closed. "This," he predicted. "Hope it's good."

At their English, the waitress smiled. "Yez… Somme time. Drink?"

"Coca-Cola," William decided immediately.

"Beer?" Claire asked. "Be…ere?"

Understanding, she nodded, and held up her fingers, indicating she'd be back in a few minutes.

"Wonder what you ordered," Claire smiled.

"Me too," he grunted, shifting in the seat. The atmosphere was dark – it almost felt like Claire's work. But it was much quieter. Five other patrons sat quietly eating, accompanied by the clatter of silverware and soft chatter. A television was on near the bar, commercials flashing, subtitles on.

"So… do we make small talk?" he seemed to dislike the silence.

"Sure. Tell me about your life."

"I… uh. I was in the Marines for a while." He offered, grasping at straws.

"Really? Why'd you leave?"

"Dishonorable discharge."

"Really? My older brother was in the Air Force for a while, but he got discharged too. Dishonorably." Leaning forward, she nodded as the waitress put their drinks down. The first sip of alcohol made her feel better. Strength rushed through her veins. Confidence in a bottle. Strength in a can. Popeye wasn't even close.

"Makes me feel better," he answered, downing the bottled Coke. "Least I'm not the only one, you know?"

"What do you do now? Like how did you end up here, with me."

"I just do what I can. I know a lot of people. Gotta make a living somehow."

"That's a pretty nonspecific somehow," she answered dryly, taking another drink.

"Well, I mean, I've done a lot. What have you done that's so interesting?"

Raccoon City. Rockfort. The Antarctic. Christ, besides watch the world fall apart, what had she done? "I survived Raccoon." She wasn't expecting anything. Well, she wasn't sure what to expect. A modicum of respect from him, shock, anything but how he reated.

"You're a fuckin' liar," he replied, looking her dead in her eyes.

"What?" she was stupefied. Never, never had anyone ever doubted her word. It was too taboo for anyone to even question if she were telling the truth. The survivors were so few that nobody would dare say what he had. It was something people didn't lie about.

"I've seen some freaked-out, crazy things that'd make you shit your pants, sweetheart. There's no way you went through it. You're small. You're a kid. You don't know what you're talking about. Don't ever lie about shit like that again." His arbitrary order infuriated her.

"Fuck you," she hissed. "You can leave right now. Sheena Island? I know what happened. Rockfort Island? I was there. Have you even fucking heard of those places? There's more than one incident, you piece of shit. My brother was the first to accuse Umbrella when the S.T.A.R.S. team went to an Umbrella hideout. You think you know anything? Jill Valentine and Chris Redfield, founders of the BSAA. Rebecca Chambers and Ark Thompson. Barry Burton. Leon Kennedy and Sherry Birkin. Don't ever tell me what I do and don't know, you cocky shithead, because I think you're the one who doesn't know anything."

He visibly recoiled, skin turning gray. It was as if he was turning within himself, even appearing smaller beneath her furious gaze. His loud exhale carried farther than her tirade, and a few people glanced over for a second, and then turned back to their meals. "Fuck." he whispered to himself. "Shit."

Rather than punching a table, or getting up, Billy Coen sat there, frozen. It was as if everything he'd worked for was ripped apart by one skinny, redheaded girl. Just a kid, with the eyes of an old woman, wise and shadowed. Rebecca Chambers. The girl he'd worked with for so long. Leon… the kid who tried so hard to keep him safe. Fuck.

He never would've connected the two in his head. For all he knew, Rebecca had died in the incident. Thinking she was safe, he'd tried his damnedest not to worry about her. But then, a few short weeks later, it had been on the news. The nuking of the city where Rebecca lived and worked. Grieving, he'd lost himself in his new life. The kid, the cop, the girl who'd saved his ass numerous times was dead.

And here was Claire Redfield, his feisty, talkative charge telling him Rebecca had survived. Joy spread through him – belatedly. Joy that his little friend was able to grow up, to live life. She had made it out of her teens. Her big green eyes hadn't closed for the last time yet. He wondered if she had grown out her hair or still had it short. Four years later. When was her birthday? Was she twenty-one still, or had she turned twenty-two?

Mentally going over Claire Redfield's file, he recalled she was only a few months older than Rebecca. Rebecca would be twenty-two now, and Claire's birthday had just passed, she was twenty-three.

Christ. And she was still giving him bullets from over the table. He'd figured she was trying to sound big and bad, intimidating, someone not to be messed with. Turns out she was, and he was an ass. Beyond an ass. Fuck. There wasn't anything he could've done worse than that. Nothing he could say would make him worthy of her forgiveness. Looking at her achingly, with all the sorrow he could muster: "I'm so sorry."

The bright sparks in her blue eyes began to fade at that. It was as though he were always apologizing to her. And she kept easily forgiving him. But before, he'd been a little shit, rude for no reason. This was the worst thing he could've ever said to her.

The waitress placed their food on the table. Claire's salad looked slightly wilted, but he assumed the beer was great, since she requested a second. He managed to ask for a cup of coffee before looking down. Claire kept her steady gaze on him, her hair looking orange in the dim light. "It's okay," she answered.

Too stunned to register exactly what he was eating, he robotically put a bite in his mouth and chewed. This kid was full of surprises.

"But," she hesitated. "Why would you have ever said that? How would you… know?"

Guilt flooded him. Despite what he now knew, she looked younger than Rebecca ever had. Even earlier, she had stayed upbeat and cheery, trying to get to know him, thinking he was just a regular, run-of-the-mill asshole average Joe. Claire was nice. She was a nice girl. A kind woman. He was floored. "I… I understand," was all he could muster, pathetically. Would she understand what he meant? He felt weak and shaky.

Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "You…" robotically, she imitated him, chewing on the salad she obviously lost her appetite for. The chewing gave them time to pause the tension-ridden conversation. How had she done it? Of course, she had no idea who he was which was good… but she had so quickly made mincemeat of his defenses. In just half a day with him, less than twenty-four hours, she'd gotten under his skin.

She was fantastic.


End file.
